


For Us

by lesbianartemis



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Light Dom/sub, Love, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, My First Smut, Romantic Soulmates, Smut, Soul Bond, Soulbound | YOI Soulmate Zine, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, The Author Regrets Everything, bad writing im sorry guys, major character death early then character comes back sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-05-17 10:48:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14830863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianartemis/pseuds/lesbianartemis
Summary: They say some soul bonds are strong enough to transcend Death itself.In which Yuuri waits a little bit too long to summon the courage to speak to his soulmate, but somehow that doesn't prevent them from overcoming the impossible to fall in love.(smut in chapter 4)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! So this is a soulmate AU, and it's based on an idea I've seen bouncing around tumblr and other various websites and such that toyed with what would happen if one of the soulmates died and was able to watch over their other soulmate for the rest of their soulmate's life. So I definitely wanted to give a brief heads up for major character death hella early on!!
> 
> Also I played around with canon timeline and routines and stuff to make everything work out the way I wanted it to, sorry it's not perfect to canon!
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys like it <3

The first time Yuuri realized he loved Victor was far too early. The dim glow of the TV screen flickered over his enraptured face as he stared, mesmerized by the figure floating across the ice. Yuuko screamed in his ear next to him, clutching her heart before clawing at him, breathlessly declaring her eternal devotion to the great Victor Nikiforov, prince of the ice. Yuuri could only mutely agree, eyes shining as he watched the skater glide across the rink, the beauty and passion and _energy_ of the piece pulsating and vibrating through every graceful move.

 

Every turn landed effortlessly, every step sequence was soared through with confidence, and Yuuri couldn’t help but gaze with a mixture of envy and longing at how at home Victor appeared, how perfectly he seemed to belong on the ice. The other competitors simply couldn’t compare, and Yuuri squeezed Yuuko’s hand as the girl gave a shout of elation when Victor’s score appeared on their screen. _One day, I’m going to be up there,_ Yuuri thought, watching Victor beam and wave at the crowd from the podium, gold medal dangling from his neck.

 

It was the beginning of somewhat of an obsession, with Yuuri and Yuuko following Victor’s career with almost frightening fervor, meeting up at one or the other’s home each time Victor was slated to compete and watching with a mixture of awed silence and incoherent excited shrieking before breaking down each and every one of the young skater’s movements, debating causes of wobbly jumps and excitedly discussing especially well-executed sequences.

 

For Yuuri, it served as an added inspiration for his own figure skating dreams, pushing him into working harder, training more, digging for every bit of life and love he could offer the sport each time he stepped on the rink – and he’d deny to anyone else that his admiration for Victor went any deeper than that of an amateur figure skater for one of the most prominent singles in his lifetime, though he fooled no one. But Victor had a soulmate, some lucky, beautiful girl, probably, though Victor was surprisingly reticent about the matter to the public, keeping his soulmark hidden and avoiding questions with a charming grin and easy misdirection.

 

But Yuuri never let himself dwell on the question of Victor’s soulmate for long, determined to focus on using his regard for the man as fuel for his own career, yearning for the day when he could earn his place beside Victor on the podium and pushing down the voice born the first time he’d seen Victor perform that said _maybe, just maybe, if he could accomplish that, he’d have done enough for the universe to consider him worthy of Victor’s love_. The first time he’d realized he loved Victor was far too early.

 

But the first time Victor realized he loved Yuuri was far too late.

 

 

**Victor Nikiforov dies in shocking accident.**

**Star of skating world, Victor Nikiforov, dead at 27.**

**Tragic death of world-renowned Russian skater, Victor Nikiforov, stuns the nation.**

 

It shouldn’t have felt like a slap in the face, to read those words. Victor knew he was dead, had felt the life leaving his body, had stood over his own inert, unsalvageable figure for minutes, watching as his friends were pulled away by paramedics who tried fruitlessly to work life back into him. He hadn’t even felt a pull in response.

 

He knew he was dead, but to see the words printed so bluntly, cruelly, on headline after headline of papers dangling limply from the hand of a man he didn’t know was still disconcerting. But even so, it wasn’t the papers that held his attention. His eyes raked over messy dark hair, tear-streaked cheeks, and the slightest trail of drool pooling on the surface of the otherwise-immaculate desk the man was slumped over. Black-framed glasses were slightly askew, framing a too-pale face. The papers were clutched loosely in one hand hanging by the man’s side, and the faded ink whispered of how often they’d been pored over. This was it; this was where Victor had been drawn. This was his soulmate.

 

Victor drew closer (walked? glided? drifted? He couldn’t really say, and he didn’t care enough to try to figure it out) until every feature was illuminated by the too-warm lamplight. He was _beautiful_ – even asleep and drooling, even after some clearly intense crying. He was soft and gorgeous and overwhelmingly endearing, letting out cute little puffs of air that might’ve been snores had they had a bit more force behind them. Captivated, Victor stared at him, hand reaching out of its own accord, desiring nothing more than to brush against soft skin. Fingers brushed cheek, immaterial hand slipping through solid flesh, unable to leave a single indention – but the boy’s eyes blinked open slowly, confusedly, red-rimmed and bloodshot. Victor’s nonexistent breath caught, staring unashamedly into gentle brown eyes inches away from his own, hand still resting uselessly against a cheek that could never feel it. He couldn’t feel it, but he imagined his soulmate’s warm breath brushing against him at this proximity, the air charged between them.  
For the briefest electric moment, Victor thought his soulmate saw him, certain those eyes had somehow reached through the veil to freeze on him, to bring them together for a single transcendental moment. But his soulmate sat up, expression unchanging, and Victor’s heart panged, acknowledging that his soulmate had been looking right through him. The motion had knocked the track pad of his soulmate’s computer, waking the monitor, and Victor glanced at the screen, eyebrows raising as his eyes locked onto what he assumed to be a news article comprised of foreign characters with a grainy photo of himself that looked to have been taken moments after he’d died. He looked surprisingly peaceful, if he did say so himself, contrasting sharply with how Yakov looked, charging at several of the camera-wielding people in the background, trying to protect his pupil to the end. In the end, it hadn’t helped, Victor knew; the paramedics had ripped open his shirt in their efforts to resuscitate him, the soulmark directly above his right hipbone that he’d worked so hard to keep from the public eye had been exposed, and the paparazzi had caught it on camera.

 

Victor had watched the ensuing chaos in the following days as person after person came forward, claiming to be his soulmate, homemade matching mark displayed proudly, only for each one to be quickly debunked. His fans were clamoring for his true soulmate to come forward – but as Victor watched his soulmate trace the mark on the screen before absentmindedly lightly touching where his own mark must lie beneath his shirt, now a dark, unflinching black, he thought they were going to be waiting a while. Another tear slipped down his soulmate’s cheek, and Victor was filled with a desperate desire to wipe it away, to reassure his soulmate with soothing touches; he settled for simply continuing to stare.

 

A knock sounded at the door, and his soulmate closed the tab quickly and tucked the papers in his hand into a desk drawer before the door opened, revealing a small, kind-looking woman with worried eyes and a steaming plate of food. His soulmate looked unsurprised, greeting her in Japanese, voice crusty from disuse. Victor listened silently to their exchange, watching as the woman, whom Victor guessed to be his soulmate’s mother, placed the plate down in front of his soulmate, gesturing firmly to it and tone slightly scolding. His soulmate didn’t argue, per say, remaining mostly quiet – but his mother wouldn’t leave until he’d finally capitulated, taking one bite of the food and chewing exaggeratedly until his mother gave a satisfied nod, exiting the room and shutting the door behind her.

 

His soulmate’s shoulders drooped the moment his mother left, and he pushed the food around, taking a bite every once in a while before appearing to give up, pushing the half-eaten plate away from him and leaning back in the chair. He sat there silently for a moment, staring dully at the wall as Victor stared raptly at him, before lifting his shirt up ever-so-slightly. Victor shot forward eagerly – and there it was. It came as no surprise, of course, but seeing his matching soulmark glinting black against his soulmate’s pale skin still flooded him with happiness and affection – and no small measure of guilt. His soulmate thumbed over the mark, expression pained, as though he’d been hoping his soulmark had miraculously shifted out of its dead-looking darkness.

 

_I’m sorry_ , Victor thought uselessly. _I’m so sorry – but I’m right here for you, even if you can’t see me._

 

 

It took Victor an embarrassingly long amount of time to figure out his soulmate’s name was Yuuri – but in his defense, Japanese wasn’t a language he’d heard often before, and he was just the slightest bit proud he’d managed to even tease that much information out of the conversations he’d listened to. Even so, he was thrilled to hear his soulmate speaking English – finally, maybe he could learn more about him.

 

“Yuuri!” A tan blur shot out from the crowd of people gathered in the airport terminal, presumably also waiting to greet friends and family disembarking the plane. Victor drifted slightly behind Yuuri, watching carefully as the tan blur crushed Yuuri into a hug, all bright grins and excited eyes. His soulmate’s response was much more reserved, one arm wrapping around the other boy briefly before they both pulled back, Yuuri’s lips turning up into the ghost of a smile.

 

“Hey, Phichit,” Yuuri greeted the boy, and _hell_ , Victor didn’t think he’d ever tire of hearing Yuuri’s voice. Phichit’s smile faltered at the response – was it more lackluster than he’d expected? Victor didn’t know how their interactions usually went or how Yuuri usually behaved, but he’d admit his soulmate looked a bit worse for wear – dark circles framed his eyes and he looked thinner than when Victor had first found him. And at this point, Victor supposed it might be difficult for others to understand why.

 

It’d been months, _months_ since he’d died, and the public had come to terms with it. Other world-news-worthy events had happened, and the world had moved on – even the skating world, although competition after competition continued to be dedicated to Victor’s memory. Yuuri had clearly been a huge fan of his – Victor had snorted in pleased amusement when he’d noticed the dozens of posters of him wallpapering his soulmate’s bedroom and hadn’t been able to control his broad grin when he’d heard Yuuri’s dog’s name. But it was long past the socially-acceptable time that a fan who’d never even met him in person should’ve been grieving. Yuuri’s continued quiet sadness and grief at this stage was only acceptable from friends, family, and soulmates – and, as far as Victor knew, nobody was aware Yuuri fit in one of those categories. Victor had never seen him talk to anyone about it, and Yuuri guarded his soulmark around even his family. So his annoyingly cute friend’s confusion was likely warranted, if unfortunate.

 

But the other boy recovered quickly, grin returning full-force as he clapped Yuuri on the shoulder. “Everyone will be so happy you’re back! Ciao Ciao’s been missing you, even if he won’t admit it,” Phichit declared cheerfully, steering Yuuri toward the baggage claim area.

 

“Oh?” Victor winced as he followed; Yuuri sounded like an extremely disinterested person trying very hard to sound interested. Phichit was unfazed, nodding.

 

“You’ve missed so much! But luckily you’ve got me to catch you up,” he sang, poking Yuuri in the side and eliciting a slightly less forced smile from Yuuri.

 

“Lucky me,” Yuuri agreed softly, and Victor tried not to feel irrationally jealous; Yuuri had nearly smiled, and that was something to be happy for. Watching their easy camaraderie as they retrieved Yuuri’s bags, Phichit animatedly waving his hands around as he described the antics of some of the younger skaters – Victor’d been unsurprised but happy to find out his soulmate was a fellow skater – Victor found himself strangely relieved as the tension started to drain from Yuuri’s shoulders, the slightest bit of life coming back into his eyes with every over-exaggerated movement.

 

The ride to their dorm passed much the same way, and Victor took the opportunity to look around. He’d never been to Detroit before, and his eyes traveled interestedly over the place his soulmate had spent years training, wondering if Yuuri had any special places in the area he liked, if there was anywhere he’d have wanted to take Victor if they’d had the chance. Victor could think of plenty of places around Saint Petersburg alone he’d have loved to show Yuuri.

 

He tried to tune out most of Phichit and Yuuri’s talk, wanting to give his soulmate some privacy but unable to tear himself away quite yet, feeling somehow as though if he were to leave for even a moment he might lose his way back forever. It was silly, of course; Yuuri was shining, brilliant, and Victor would be able to find his way back to him with ease – but he couldn’t shake the insecurity. And so he stayed, tuning out the duo until they reached the dorms, following slightly behind as Phichit and Yuuri wove their way through the building, Phichit chattering away to a slightly happier-looking Yuuri. 

 

He looked more at home here, Victor thought. It wasn’t that he’d been uncomfortable in his childhood home – but it had been less immediately familiar to him than this place seemed to be, Yuuri navigating with practiced ease and a bit more tension melting away.

 

That changed when the door to, Victor assumed, his room opened. Victor watched, alarmed, as his soulmate’s shoulder’s stiffened in the doorway, inhaling sharply. From behind, he couldn’t see Yuuri’s expression, but he’d bet money that every trace of relaxation since he’d been met with Phichit had dissolved – and he wasn’t alone in noticing.

 

“Yuuri? You okay?” Phichit asked, concerned. His eyes followed Yuuri’s, and Victor watched him jerk in surprise before nodding, seemingly to himself. Phichit placed a hand on Yuuri’s back, gently guiding him forward and dropping the bags inside the room, turning to close the door. Victor slipped through as he did, gliding through the door in the spaces where he didn’t make it. He glanced up – and stared straight at a poster of himself hanging above the side of a bed. Ah.

 

Yuuri’s head was ducked, but his shoulders were shaking slightly, and Victor ached to be able to comfort him, stuck staring with frustration and longing instead. But Phichit, thankfully, had no such limitations, leaving the luggage in the entry and guiding Yuuri over to settle on the bed, their backs turned to the poster. Victor shifted awkwardly, glancing behind him before setting himself on the other bed, fixating on Yuuri’s now-wet face. Phichit didn’t say anything, pulling Yuuri close and simply waiting, letting Yuuri bury his face into Phichit’s shoulder and gather himself. 

 

“What’s going on, Yuuri?” Phichit finally asked softly when Yuuri’s shoulders had stopped shaking. Victor bit his lip, unable to take his eyes off his soulmate as he drew slowly back, face blotchy and expression uncertain. Phichit pressed gently. “He died months ago. What’s this about?”

 

Victor felt like he could see the decision pass over Yuuri’s face, and the boy steeled himself, fingers twisting into the hem of his shirt before slowly lifting it just enough so that his soulmark was visible. Phichit looked confused for a moment before recognition dawned, and his eyes widened.

 

“That’s…”

 

“Yeah,” Yuuri confirmed quietly, eyes downcast as he lowered his shirt, every muscle tense as he waited for Phichit’s reaction. Two arms wrapped around him, squeezing him close.

 

“Yuuri, I am so, so sorry,” Phichit said, voice slightly muffled from where it was buried in Yuuri’s hair. A pause, and then Yuuri curled into Phichit, choking out sobs like Victor hadn’t seen since the first time he’d found Yuuri. 

 

Phichit held Yuuri till he was wrung out. 

 

 

“Ciao Ciao,” or Celestino, as Victor heard him called by everyone who wasn’t Phichit, greeted Yuuri with the kind of stoically cheerful approval that Victor could admire, declining to comment on all of the time Yuuri had taken off and instead gruffly declaring that the boy needed to get back in shape before stepping back on the ice. The following months were filled with day after day of exhaustive training for Yuuri, and Victor trailed along with growing admiration as his soulmate completed intense workout regimens, throwing himself into training with the kind of single-minded dedication that Victor both recognized and appreciated. His eyes were still hollow, the smudges under his eyes too dark, but there was a small fire behind them now, the frail beginnings of determination and drive manifesting.

 

He was so compliant towards what his coach wanted, though – Celestino chose his music and decided on the choreography and determined what jumps he thought Yuuri capable of completing with no input from Yuuri himself. Yuuri’s only real challenge to that control was in his insistence that his theme for the programs be heartbreak. Celestino was understandably confused; what experience did Yuuri have with heartbreak? Not to mention that the particular theme was so overused, and didn’t Yuuri want to stand out? But Yuuri had been uncharacteristically firm, and Celestino had taken one hard look at his face, nodded, and dropped the subject. 

 

Nights were spent with Phichit usually, the younger boy seeming to understand better than Yuuri himself what he needed and accommodating with an easy smile. The first couple of weeks were filled with quiet nights, the duo sitting together in their room and watching funny movies or scrolling through Phichit’s Instagram feed, remaining in the realm of lighthearted conversation unless Yuuri initiated anything deeper, which happened only rarely and was followed with quiet tears and wordless comfort.

 

Once Phichit had coaxed a few consistent smiles out of Yuuri, the Thai boy started gently tugging Yuuri out of their room, taking him out to get ice cream or walk around downtown under the guise of “needing costume ideas.” Victor found himself falling in love with Yuuri’s expressions, with how he looked at Phichit so dubiously when the skater suggested particularly outrageous outfits, with his quiet, contemplative hum when Phichit asked his opinion, with how bashful he looked when anyone gave him even the slightest compliment, coloring so easily. Victor thought he’d have loved to make Yuuri blush, would’ve probably made it his personal goal to make Yuuri turn red as often as possible.

 

Victor’s favorite outing, though, was probably when Phichit took Yuuri to the closest animal shelter, cheerfully stating that Yuuri had to be missing his Vicchan and they could fix that. They knelt on the floor and played with puppy after puppy, and Yuuri looked happier and happier as they went along until one of the bigger dogs they were playing with launched herself at Yuuri, knocking him back and licking him eagerly all over the face. Yuuri let out a startled laugh, short but genuine – and Victor thought his heart might stop. How was his soulmate’s laugh so beautiful, quiet but forceful, ringing and filling the too-small room? It was perfect, his soulmate was gorgeous, and Victor felt so, so lucky that the universe considered him deserving of Yuuri.

 

But it was when Yuuri stepped onto the ice that Victor felt himself truly swell with something vast and inexplicable. The Yuuri he saw most of the time, the Yuuri that was quiet and timid and awkward, the Yuuri that was endearingly uncertain in social settings, the Yuuri that Victor was pretty sure he was falling for – that Yuuri disappeared, dissolved into something infinitely more confident and infinitely more at peace when he got lost in the music. He was graceful in a way that Victor nearly envied, his step sequences conveying so much raw emotion that, even if Victor’d had someone to talk to, he’d have been stunned into silence.

 

But the persona broke any time he messed up, stumbling on a jump or executing a move less than perfectly, and Victor’s sweet, bumbling Yuuri popped back out – but with an extra tinge of nervousness and self disgust that Victor came to hate. And Victor couldn’t help but notice that one mistake with Yuuri tended to multiply into several, the boy’s increase in self-doubt after one falter resulting in jumps he’d landed countless times falling, in his mind being yanked out of whatever headspace he went into when he got into his routines and the rest of the routine being performed with an almost-desperate intensity, losing the beauty.

 

Celestino usually stopped him, patiently correcting what needed correcting and giving him a moment to reset before restarting the music, but Victor wondered if this strategy was a mistake – it wasn’t as if they could pause the music in a competition, and maybe Yuuri needed to learn how to push through, to regain his confidence and understand that one mistake didn’t mean he wasn’t good enough to earn the gold. But then again, Victor wasn’t a coach, so what did he know?

 

All the same, he was uncharacteristically nervous as the competition season started. It was Yuuri’s senior debut, and, as happy as Victor was to see the sadness that seemed to be a near-constant presence on Yuuri’s face start to fade away, he thought the anxiety and fear that replaced it might actually be worse.

 

The first competition was the worst. Celestino and Yuuri had flown out a couple of days early, and Yuuri’s routines morphed almost overnight into something that communicated far less heartbreak and far more blind terror – and Celestino seemed to have no idea how to fix it, offering advice and a few words about remaining calm and then simply leaving him to it.

 

The day of the first competition dawned clear and cloudless, not that Victor saw much of it. The rink was crowded, as competitions always were, the stands nearly full, and coaches and skaters milled about discussing last minute pointers and small adjustments to their programs. Yuuri practically radiated nervous energy, fidgeting by the rink. Victor hovered beside him, quietly longing. Yuuri’s warm-up hadn’t gone well; the jumps he threw were wobbly at best and completely fell at worst, and Victor could see the paralyzing tension in Yuuri’s shoulders, his eyes, the way he held himself. His nerves were palpable as the skater just before him performed, tapping his fingers against the wall to the rink anxiously and shifting from one foot to the other as his eyes traced the skater’s routine with growing apprehension. Victor felt almost as though he could _hear_ Yuuri clamming up, could hear the voice in Yuuri’s head telling him he wouldn’t be good enough. Victor wished more than anything that he could be there to slip an arm around Yuuri’s waist and reassure him that, win or lose, he was everything.

 

“You’re always good enough, дучик,” Victor whispered, unable to keep himself from lightly brushing Yuuri’s shoulder, hand sliding through his soulmate’s skin. Yuuri jolted as if burned, head jerking in Victor’s direction, eyes whipping wildly around as though searching for something. Victor’s heart leapt, imagining for the barest moment that Yuuri might have somehow felt him, might _see_ him. But Yuuri’s eyes looked through him, focusing on nothing, and Victor’s shoulders sagged even as he tried not to let himself feel disappointed.

 

It wasn’t unheard of for a deceased soulmate to be briefly visible, if both parties were feeling some intense emotion for the other; some bonds were so strong even death couldn’t repress them entirely. It was incredibly rare and usually reserved for soulmates who’d been together for a very, very long time.

 

On the other hand, it was very nearly commonplace for someone with a deceased soulmate to feel their soulmate’s presence, to be able to feel their touch ever-so-slightly from time to time. It wasn’t something Victor had much experience with – most soulmate pairs he knew of where one partner was deceased were from old age, and Victor hadn’t spent much time around the elderly during his training. But he’d heard the stories – people who’d been able to feel their soulmate’s soothing touch during the hardest funeral of their lives, those who could feel their soulmate’s presence when they sat down to watch the Saturday night show they’d used to watch together, and case after case of those who’d simply felt their soulmate’s joy when something wonderful happened or their soulmate’s comfort when something bad happened, their silent support no matter the situation and no matter that they possessed no physical presence.

 

Victor imagined, _hoped_ , that something similar had just happened with him and his soulmate; he hoped some of his fervent desire to impart calm and confidence had trickled through. Maybe he and Yuuri had never met in person, but Yuuri’d followed him for years, and Victor believed Yuuri knew him in some manner – and Victor certainly was starting to know Yuuri. He liked to imagine they shared some sort of bond regardless of the lack of physical proximity during their lifetimes.

 

But at the confused expression on Yuuri’s face as he continued to search for the source of the touch, Victor winced at the thought that he might’ve accidentally made the situation worse. Perhaps he’d just created a good distraction from the nerves, though; Yuuri’s confusion seemed to at least take his mind off the competition for a moment, and Victor thought he looked a bit less tense when his attention did turn back to the ice.

 

And then Yuuri’s name was being called, and his soulmate stepped onto the ice, nerves poorly disguised as he waved at the crowd before taking his place at the center of the rink. Victor leaned against the rink wall – he was getting better at not accidentally phasing through objects, thank fuck – more anxious than he’d ever been for one of his own competitions as the music started. 

 

It was a bit of a rough start – not in terms of technical skill, thankfully; Yuuri was landing his jumps, even if they were a little unstable. But he was stiff, the emotion he usually conveyed nearly entirely absent as he went through the routine. He was too nervous, the pressure of everyone’s eyes on him making him too self-conscious. But slowly, as the routine wore on, Yuuri seemed to get caught up in the music bit by bit, the passionate, expressive skater that lay beneath layers of anxiety and self-doubt gradually surfacing. It still wasn’t what it had been in practice – but it was enough. The crowd was interested; Victor could tell when he took his eyes off Yuuri for the briefest moment to survey their expressions, noted the way their eyes fixated on Yuuri, most conversations stalling temporarily until the skater finished his program, chest heaving as he struck his final pose back in the center of the ice.

 

The applause that greeted his performance was far warmer than when he’d first arrived on the ice, and Victor beamed proudly at the impressed looks from a few audience members; that’s right, his soulmate was someone to notice!

 

_Just wait_ , Victor thought certainly as he followed his soulmate to the Kiss and Cry. _Someday, my дучик is going to leave you all speechless._

 

 

Yuuri placed easily at that competition – and the next one, and the next one. His performances were still inconsistent, though, and one flubbed jump was devastating. The raw pain he conveyed through his nearly-immaculate step sequences usually made up enough ground in presentation points for him to still medal, despite lower technical scores, but Victor knew it wouldn’t be enough if Yuuri wanted to compete at the highest level. Victor knew, just _knew_ , that Yuuri could do it, could be at least as good a skater as Victor himself had been, if not better. He could see it in Yuuri’s beautiful form, in how perfectly lost he got when he blocked out the world enough to just skate what he felt, in how earnest and pure every step became.

 

But Yuuri lacked confidence, choked on anxiety when he knew people were watching, and it showed. He wanted so badly to prove himself that he took every mistake, no matter how minor, as a sign that he still wasn’t good enough; Victor could see the internal berating, the self-doubt, the disgust on his face at every misstep – and what was worse, he could see how it paralyzed Yuuri, making him re-think his program, his abilities, his worthiness to be on the ice. Victor spent so many nights watching Yuuri beat himself up in his hotel rooms after performances, flopping despondently onto the bed and muttering angrily to himself in Japanese. Admittedly, Victor couldn’t understand what his soulmate was saying, so he had no real proof it was negative words about his performance, but Victor felt pretty confident in his interpretation. Those nights always ended with him sitting quietly by his unaware soulmate, chewing on his lip and longing to be able to smack some sense into the talented idiot, to tell him just how amazing and mesmerizing he truly was and how the audience was so, so lucky to be able to watch his performances.

 

But despite his lack of confidence in his own abilities, Yuuri made it to the Grand Prix Finals. Barely, of course – but he made it, and that alone was enough to make Victor beam, basking in Yuuri’s moment of shining pride and triumph before the anxiety started to set in.

 

And _oh_ , did that anxiety set in. Victor thought Yuuri’s anxiety had been palpable before, but it was nothing compared to how it was when they touched down in Solchi. He’d grown quieter and quieter, relying more and more on nonverbal communication with his coach and retiring to his room alone immediately after every practice session, laying on the bed and staring at the ceiling for hours on end. Victor laid beside him, purposely not touching to avoid inciting further anxiety or worry, but hoping his presence gave Yuuri some kind of comfort. 

 

The day of the men’s singles short program found a completely silent Yuuri. Victor hadn’t heard a word from him since he’d gotten up that morning, and he was growing increasingly worried. He’d seen Yuuri anxious in every competition so far, but this was different – what was setting him so on edge in this one?

 

But when they arrived at the rink, Victor wanted to smack himself. Banners reading “For Victor” hung from seemingly every available space, and photo compilations of his five consecutive Grand Prix wins papered the walls. Yuuri seemed to shrink further in on himself at the sight, and Victor saw him subtly tug down his jacket, as though to reassure himself that his soulmark was well covered. 

 

In the heat of Yuuri’s competitions, Victor had forgotten this would be the first Grand Prix Final since he’d died – of _course_ they’d dedicate it to him. And of course it would cause his soulmate pain. Shit. _Shit_. Victor could only hope Yuuri could channel it into his skating, could use it to make his performance that much more poignant. But from the look of near-terror on Yuuri’s face as he changed into his outfit, it didn’t appear as though Victor’s hope was going to do Yuuri much good.

 

The warm-up skate was terrible. Every single jump Yuuri threw fell. His head wasn’t in it, and the other skaters were throwing him concerned looks, though he didn’t seem to notice. Yuuri exited the rink quickly after the warm-up ended, disappearing around a corner before his coach could get a word in. Victor followed more slowly, mind turning over and over and over, trying to figure out any way at all he could help Yuuri. Yuuri stood silhouetted against the wall, mostly hidden from sight, breathing deeply and appearing to be collecting himself – or trying to. 

 

The announcer called his name. He straightened, and Victor watched him struggle to mask his nerves as he walked past Victor toward the rink. Victor followed, seeing him hesitate at the opening before stepping onto the ice. Impulsively, foolishly, overcome with the inability to watch his soulmate try to deal with this anxiety alone, Victor followed.

 

He stepped onto the ice and froze. Yuuri couldn’t see him – what was he even going to do besides stand uselessly on the ice, pointlessly dodging if Yuuri got too close? But one more look at the poorly-disguised fear on his soulmate’s face and Victor stepped forward. He’d be by Yuuri’s side for this routine. Maybe singles skating competitions were supposed to be a solo sport, but Yuuri was skating in his very first Grand Prix Final with a theme of heartbreak over his dead soulmate, and said soulmate’s face was plastered everywhere. Victor was not going to leave him to do this alone.

 

The music started. Yuuri was as stiff as he’d been in his very first performance of the season, tight and anxious. He moved and Victor followed, shadowing his tense steps, watching his rigid spins. _You can do this, Yuuri_. The first jump went up – and Yuuri hit the ice hard, the audience gasping or ahh-ing in sympathy. Yuuri picked himself up quickly, throwing himself back into the routine, but it was even more desperate now, the mournful beauty of his routine nothing more than a shadow resonating through the dulcet piano tones blaring through the speaker and bouncing ineffectually off the skater. 

 

_You’re so much more than this, Yuuri. You’re not_ feeling _it like I know you can_. The second jump went up, and Yuuri fell again. The audience was murmuring now, and Victor could see the panic on Yuuri’s face, the obnoxious voice that dogged him already beginning its taunts that Yuuri wasn’t good enough, that he would never be good enough. But worse – Victor could see the beginnings of resignation in Yuuri’s eyes, of accepting the mental insistence that he was mediocre, of _belief_ that his mistakes were proof that he didn’t deserve to be here. 

 

_No. NO. Yuuri Katsuki, you have the potential to be the best figure skater in the world, and you_ will _prove it._ Victor lurched forward, driven by – he wasn’t sure what. Determination? Love? Insanity? He was lucky – it was the softer part of the song when Victor shot forward, and Yuuri was in the middle of an Ina Bauer, in perfect position for Victor to slip in behind him, to press closely enough that they were touching just slightly as they glided across the ice.

 

Yuuri jerked – not enough that anyone in the stands would notice, but enough that Victor did, that Victor knew Yuuri felt him. Fire blazing through him, he reached forward, touched Yuuri’s back with one hand and whispered fiercely, “Show them what you feel, Yuuri. Show _me_. Tell me how you feel right here on this ice, like I know you can.” And Victor stepped back, let Yuuri skate away from him.

 

Yuuri’s face was shocked, awestruck, and, briefly, pained, all in the space of a single moment. And then Victor saw him transform, the anxiety and terror and uncertainty dissipating, sudden determination taking their place before melding into something entirely more peaceful – and entirely more heartrending. 

 

The music stayed the same, but the skater morphed to fit it, melancholic and gut-wrenchingly pained. His movements spoke of longing, of loss, of reaching for something he could never grasp. The music swelled and so did he, an altogether different desperation conveyed in every step sequence, a quiet kind of desperation for something just out of reach. And yet Yuuri reached and reached, spins and steps speaking of a frantic, all-consuming need to obtain to the unattainable regardless of the impossibility, beautifully executed jump combo creating the apex of his hopeless quest. But the music slowed and the desperation drained away, the doomed pursuit dwindling and shifting to excruciating lamentation over what could never be. Hopelessness and agony radiated from the final step sequence, unending longing coloring the final jump and culminating in an ending that spoke of the sharp pain of loss with no promise of respite. 

 

The music ended and the crowd leapt to its feet, cheering wildly, but Victor could only stare, open-mouthed. _Oh, Yuuri._ His soulmate skated off the ice, heading for the Kiss and Cry, and Victor hesitated a moment before following. Celestino greeted Yuuri with a wordless nod of approval, and Victor slid in to sit on Yuuri’s other side. He placed a hand on Yuuri’s knee, focusing on all of the pride, the joy – and the sorrow he’d felt from Yuuri’s performance. _That was beautiful, my дучик_. His soulmate’s eyes widened slightly before a slight blush swept over his face, and Victor grinned, feeling weirdly proud of himself for putting that blush there.

 

Then Yuuri’s scores came in, and the flush was replaced with bare surprise. They were lower than he would want, of course – with two flubbed jumps, they’d have to be. But they were higher than even some of his previous, less flawed short program scores, and Victor let out a crow of triumph, beaming as Celestino gave Yuuri a quick squeeze.

 

_I’m so proud of you, my Yuuri_.

 

Yuuri started off the free skate in sixth place, but his score was only a couple of points below the fifth place skater. He looked completely different in the warm-up than he had the previous day, fierce determination shining through as he landed most of his jumps perfectly, and the looks sent his way by the other skaters were ones of surprise rather than concern this time.

 

The warm-up ended, and Yuuri skated over to the side, stopping for a quick drink of water and catching his breath. When his name was called, he stepped up to the opening, and Victor stepped beside him, brushing his arm lightly and pushing as much comfort and reassurance as he could into the motion. Yuuri stiffened before relaxing, the smallest pained smile tugging at his lips. “Please watch me,” Yuuri murmured, eyes on the floor, and shock jolted through Victor. There was no one else close by that Yuuri might be speaking to – his coach was on a different side of the rink, and the other skaters were elsewhere. Those words had been meant for _him_.

 

Victor felt swollen with happiness; his soulmate knew he was here, and, what was more, his soulmate _wanted_ him there. He only wished he could’ve told Yuuri there was no chance in hell he’d take his eyes off him.

 

Yuuri skated to the center, eyes roaming around the arena. Victor thought he was observing the audience, checking their reaction – but his eyes were aimed too high. No, he was looking at the posters and banners decorating the wall, at Victor’s face and name flashing down at him from every angle. He breathed in, face set with determination, and the music started. 

 

It was easily the most breathtaking performance Victor had ever seen. Victor felt he could say that objectively, that Yuuri’s status as his soulmate didn’t interfere with his ability to make that determination – especially since it seemed the audience agreed with him. There had been loud applause and cheering when Yuuri landed his jumps toward the beginning of the piece, but, as the piece wore on, the audience seemed more and more awestruck, breathless in the face of the raw pain and grief and anguish Yuuri communicated with every movement. Victor could _feel_ the absolute sorrow emanating from the rink, could see every vulnerable moment, every tear-filled night, every angry, despairing cursing of fate woven into the story Yuuri told, until the piece came to a close with quiet desolation and was greeted with complete silence for a bare, exposed moment before the audience was on their feet, cheering wildly for a panting Yuuri.

 

Yuuri looked almost shocked at the reception, giving a quiet, grateful wave and glancing one last time at the posters, pain and pride flashing in equal measures across his face, before skating off the ice to join his coach at the Kiss and Cry.

 

Victor was immobile, speechless as he stared at the rink where Yuuri had just laid himself bare for everyone to see. He felt somehow shell-shocked, chest clenching tightly, overwhelmed by the amount of love his soulmate had for him – and the amount of pain his soulmate had experienced because of him. Jolting himself out of it, he drifted to hover just behind the cameras at the Kiss and Cry, where Yuuri’s scores had just been announced. Yuuri’s mouth popped open in astonishment; it was the highest score he’d ever gotten – not high enough to break Victor’s free skate record, not yet, but so much closer than _anyone_ would’ve predicted (besides maybe Victor himself).

 

The announcers were loudly discussing skater Katsuki’s enthralling, emotionally charged performance, enthusiastically proclaiming it the shock of the season, but Victor couldn’t take his eyes off Yuuri’s face. He’d never felt like this before, overflowing with pride and happiness and sorrow and love until it was absolutely painful, feeling so intensely connected to his soulmate, but so horribly cut off at the same time, unable to show his soulmate just how much that program meant to him. 

 

And then Yuuri looked back into the crowd of cameras – and his eyes locked onto Victor’s. Victor froze as Yuuri’s eyes widened in shock. Was this really happening? Yuuri’s eyes didn’t move from his face, and Victor felt his face break into a slow, uncontainable smile. His soulmate could see him, and he’d be damned if he didn’t show him how amazed he was. His smile widened, eyes shining with pride as he looked at Yuuri like he was the only person in the world who mattered. One hand touched his heart, and he hoped Yuuri could feel the admiration and adoration radiating off of him.

 

Yuuri looked struck dumb, and Victor couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, indescribably happy. But Victor could feel the connection between them fading and, from Yuuri’s expression, knew that he must be fading away to Yuuri’s eyes. His smile turned sad, but he refused to be anything but grateful for the moment with his soulmate as their connection dissolved. Yuuri stared at the spot where Victor still stood for a moment, unseeing, sudden loss coloring his expression before his attention was recaptured by the reporters directing questions at him. 

 

 

Yuuri placed third in the Grand Prix Final, his free skate score bumping him up significantly, though it wasn’t enough to secure the gold. His performance drew a ton of attention from the others who attended the banquet that night regardless, other skaters and coaches alike stepping forward to offer words of praise and congratulations.

 

“It was a gorgeous performance,” one of the competitors whose name slipped Victor’s mind complimented Yuuri, who flushed deep red, murmuring his thanks to the ground. The competitor only smiled before stepping away to speak to Yuuri’s coach. Yuuri’s face betrayed his relief, but he was immediately approached by a far more imposing figure.

 

“Looks like I’ll have to keep an eye on you, Katsuki,” JJ commented with a wink and a sly grin, sidling up to Victor’s soulmate. “You nearly snuck up on me there.”  
“Y-your performance was really good, too,” Yuuri stammered out, gesturing weakly at the silver medal gleaming proudly from its place of honor around JJ’s neck. JJ nodded, accepting the compliment with smug ease.

 

“Next year, I’ll have the gold,” JJ said confidently.

 

“We’ll see about that,” a familiar voice said, and Victor was delighted to see Christophe approaching. Christophe was one of the few skaters he’d really considered a friend, and Victor couldn’t help but think someone like Chris might be really good to bring Yuuri out of his shell. Case in point – Christophe slung his arm around Yuuri’s neck and leaned onto him, Yuuri squeaking in surprise. “I think this one could give you a run for your money,” Chris asserted, jerking his head in Yuuri’s direction, “and you’ll still have to beat me, too, JJ.” JJ scowled.

 

“You only won today because _I_ was off on some of my timing,” he snapped, grinning in challenge. “I’ll get you next year – JJ style is going to take all of you down.” Then he spun on his heel, flouncing off to pester some other poor soul, presumably. Chris turned his attention to a red-faced Yuuri.

 

“Your routine made me cry, you bastard,” he said cheerily, and Yuuri blinked up at him.

 

“I’m – sorry?” he tried, and Christophe laughed.

 

“Don’t be, you were beautiful,” he responded easily, and Yuuri’s face heated further until it resembled a strangely attractive tomato. Victor, to his bafflement, felt his gladness at seeing his old friend drain away, replaced with irritation. He moved closer to Yuuri.

 

“Th-thanks,” Yuuri stuttered, trying to duck his head, but Christophe just smiled, placing one finger under Yuuri’s chin and tilting his head back up.

 

“Are you here by yourself?” Chris asked, voice low and eyes dancing with a promise, and Victor didn’t think he’d ever wanted to stab someone more in his life.

 

“Uh, I came with my coach,” Yuuri squeaked out, and Chris snorted in amusement.

 

“That’s not what I meant,” he responded, silken voice leaving no room for misinterpretation, and Yuuri’s eyes widened in sudden understanding. Victor wasn’t sure if he wanted to shake him or kiss him for being so ridiculously oblivious.

 

“O-oh, uh, I have a soulmate,” Yuuri blurted, eyes dropping, and Victor was flooded with warmth, heart clenching with painful affection. Christophe’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, and then he dropped his arm, allowing some space between them.

 

“Of course, I’m sorry,” Christophe responded easily, maintaining his smile. His gaze shifted from hot to curious, and he eyed Yuuri, head tilted and expression contemplative. “Is that who you skated for?” he asked suddenly, and Yuuri’s eyes shot up to meet his.

 

“Sorry?”

 

“Your program – you said the theme was heartbreak in an interview. Was it about your soulmate?” Christophe asked, and Yuuri’s expression shifted from shock at the news that Christophe had listened to one of his interviews to quiet panic at the question.

 

“Yeah,” he answered finally without elaboration, and Christophe nodded, eyes narrowing and looking thoughtful. Yuuri looked vaguely frightened at his scrutinizing gaze and, though Victor knew there was absolutely no way Chris could know about him and Yuuri, he couldn’t help but feel a bit worried as well.

 

“Well, I hope you find your happy ending to that song,” Christophe said finally, and Yuuri let out an exhale of relief, shoulders drooping slightly. 

 

“Thanks,” he said with a small, shy smile, and Christophe smiled in return.

 

“I’m sure I’ll be seeing you soon,” Christophe said with a cheeky grin, waving as he sauntered away. Yuuri looked incredibly relieved to be alone at last, glancing around shiftily before eyeing the exit as though mentally calculating the number of people who would try to stop him if he darted out.

 

Before he could take a step, though, another person familiar to Victor stepped into his line of sight, looking infinitely less welcoming than Christophe. 

 

“Hey! Piggy! Don’t go thinking you’re some sort of winner just because you recovered from that pathetic short program,” Yuri sneered up at a very baffled Yuuri. Victor snickered in amusement behind them; another year hadn’t changed Yuri, then. “I’ll be competing in the senior division next year, and there’s no room for two Yuris.” Yuuri’s mouth opened and closed, the boy looking as though he was at a loss for how to respond.

 

“Yuri!” Both Yuris gazes snapped toward the voice, and Victor was greeted by yet another familiar face as Yakov struggled through the crowd, looking increasingly irritated as a couple of skaters well on their way to being drunk stumbled into him. “I told you not to run off from me tonight, and what do you do as soon as we get here?” Yakov threw his hands up in exasperation, angry glare trained on his skater. Yuri scoffed at him.

 

“You’ve gotten too overbearing since Victor died, old man,” he spat, and Yuuri flinched as though he’d been struck. Thankfully, the other two seemed not to notice. Yakov’s expression darkened.

 

“Do you never think before you speak?” he asked furiously to Yuri’s equally irate face, and Yuuri inched backwards, leaving the duo to their argument. Victor gave them one more fond look, sparing himself a brief moment to be thankful he wasn’t on the receiving end of either of their anger before following after Yuuri. 

 

Yuuri wove through the crowd until he found Celestino, waiting politely until his coach finished his conversation with one of the officials. “I’m leaving for the night,” Yuuri said once he had his coach’s attention, gesturing towards the exit, and Celestino frowned.

 

“It’s still early, Yuuri,” he objected, but Yuuri shrugged noncommittally.

 

“I’m tired,” was all he said in response, and Celestino looked at him for a moment before nodding. Yuuri offered his coach a small smile and started to turn away, pausing when Celestino stopped him with a touch to the elbow. He gave his coach a questioning look as Celestino appeared to fumble for words.

 

“I don’t know where your skate today came from,” Celestino started, and the words sounded awkward, stilted, even to Victor’s ears, “but I hope you know you can talk to me, if you need to. Or someone else. You have people who care about you, Yuuri.” Yuuri blinked at his coach before nodding slowly.

 

“I know,” he said quietly, and then Celestino was nodding, dropping his hand.

 

“Get some rest, kid,” he said gruffly, and a small smile twitched at Yuuri’s lips before he turned and left the banquet behind. Victor glanced around, watching Christophe flirt with an oblivious Michele Crispino while his sister laughed into her palm beside him, watching JJ brag about the difficulty of the program he was planning for the next year to a couple of officials, watching Yuri stomp away from Yakov as the latter shook a fist and loudly demanded that the former come back immediately. He smiled to himself, the slight niggling of guilt he’d felt since seeing the other skaters gather the previous day and realizing he’d been so wrapped up in his soulmate that he hadn’t been checking on them dissolving. His teammates, coaches, competitors, friends – they were fine, they were all fine, and he was satisfied.

 

He turned his back on the party, following after Yuuri yet again.

 

When he got to Yuuri’s room, he could hear Phichit’s voice through the door. “– proud of you, Yuuri, you did so well!”

 

“I still messed up some of my jumps,” Yuuri’s voice, muffled through the door, sounded bashful. Victor phased through, pausing in the doorway to stare at his soulmate, whose back was to him with his legs tucked under him on the bed, expression speaking of tentative pride as he stared into the phone screen he was holding aloft. Damn, he was beautiful. Especially here, where he was relaxed and at home, able to drop the pretense of being someone whose soulmate was either alive and well or hadn’t existed in the first place. Victor glided over, settling on the bed where he could better watch Yuuri’s expressions.

 

“I don’t wanna hear it – both of your programs were beautiful,” Phichit’s voice was stern through the phone, “Guang Hong even teared up –“

 

“ _I did not!_ ,” came a faint indignant voice from somewhere behind Phichit, and Phichit laughed, full and bright. 

 

“Liar!” he called over his shoulder, and distant grumbling sounded over the FaceTime speaker until it was silenced by the sound of a door closing. Phichit chuckled, turning his attention back to Yuuri, who was smiling softly.

 

“You guys sound friendly,” he commented, and Phichit grinned sheepishly.

 

“He tagged me in a picture on Instagram, and…” he trailed off, shrugging, and Yuuri laughed.

 

“Trust you to go making friends at competitions through _social media_ , instead of just talking like a normal person,” he teased. Phichit stuck his tongue out, feigning offense.

 

“Hey, if you weren’t such an old man with technology you’d be doing the same thing!” he protested, and Yuuri let out an indignant squawk.

 

“Rude! I could navigate social media if I wanted to, I just happen to appreciate face to face interaction,” he said frostily. Phichit snorted once, twice, then dissolved into laughter.

 

“You, appreciating face to face interaction,” he wheezed, grabbing his side. “That’s a good one, Yuuri Katsuki.” Yuuri glared at him.

 

“Phichit! Why are you so mean to me today?” he whined, and Phichit straightened, expression turning solemn.

 

“Because you did really well, and, as your best friend, it’s my duty to keep you from getting a big head,” Phichit said seriously, and Yuuri snorted, shaking his head.

 

“And where exactly in the best friend contract is that clause?” he questioned, rolling his eyes.

 

“Right between the clause that says I have to draw embarrassing stuff on your face with permanent marker if you ever pass out drunk to teach you a lesson and the clause that says I’m allowed to call you at any hour of the day or night with relationship problems and you have to pick up,” Phichit told him. Yuuri gave a defeated sigh.

 

“Well, I guess if those are the rules,” he acquiesced, and Phichit nodded gravely before both of them made eye contact and dissolved into laughter. Victor grinned at the sight, affection swelling in him. He loved this, loved getting to see this other side of his soulmate, this side that was relaxed and comfortable, getting teased and being able to tease back without blushing himself into silence. Don’t get him wrong – he also loved how easily flustered Yuuri got, how innocent and sweet he could be, but his soulmate also had fire in him, and Victor relished every opportunity he had to see it worm its way to the surface.

 

But as the conversation subsided for a moment, the laughter trailed off and a genuine serious air took its place as Phichit regarded Yuuri silently through the phone. 

 

“You were different this time,” he said finally, and Yuuri tilted his head in confusion. “When I saw you mess up your first two jumps, I thought it was over for you. Not because I didn’t think you were capable of pulling out of it, but because I know how hard it is for you to recover, especially lately. But you did it, and you skated with more…more…” Words appeared to desert Phichit, and he gestured frustratedly, trying to convey in motion where words failed him. Yuuri bit his lip, free hand twisting into the bedspread.

 

“I felt him,” he confessed finally, and Victor held his breath. Phichit’s expression froze.

 

“Victor?” he asked carefully, peering at Yuuri, and Yuuri hesitated before nodding. Phichit exhaled. “While you were skating?” he pressed, eyes cautiously evaluating Yuuri’s expression. Yuuri nodded, gaze dropping to the covers.

 

“After I flubbed the second jump,” he clarified, then continued. “He told me to make him feel what I felt.” Phichit’s eyes widened.

 

“Wait, he _spoke_ to you? As in, you actually heard his voice?” Phichit demanded, and Yuuri glanced up at him.

 

“Y-yeah, and I saw him today.” Phichit’s mouth dropped open.

 

“You _saw him_ today?”

 

“At the Kiss and Cry.”

 

“ _At the_ – are you messing with me?” Yuuri shook his head, eyes downcast, and Phichit took a deep breath, clearly trying to rein himself in. “How did he look?” Phichit asked, voice softer. Yuuri shrugged, picking at the seams of the bedspread.

 

“I think he looked proud,” he said quietly, and Victor felt relief and elation sweep through him, pleased that Yuuri had been able to understand.

 

“Of course he looked proud,” Phichit reassured him, regarding Yuuri with a tender smile. “His soulmate kicked ass at the free skate, how could he not be proud?” Yuuri flushed, looking up long enough to return his friend’s smile. 

 

“Thanks, Phichit,” Yuuri said softly, and Phichit hummed in response.

 

“That’s a big deal though, you know,” he said, and Yuuri looked at him questioningly. “That you could see him,” Phichit clarified. “You have to be really connected for that to happen. And you guys never met?” The question was carefully worded, but it clearly hit home for Yuuri.

 

“I was thinking about it…I think he might be around a lot,” Yuuri said, shifting nervously as though nervous for Phichit’s reaction. Phichit’s brow furrowed.

 

“Around?”

 

“Watching over me,” Yuuri elaborated, looking more bashful, and his friend’s eyebrows lifted.

 

“Why do you think that?” he questioned.

 

“Just – a feeling,” Yuuri responded evasively, then sighed. “I’ve felt something…similar a few other times. And when he looked at me, it – it was like he knew me.” The last part was said in a rush, Yuuri biting his lip and looking for all the world like he expected Phichit to immediately ridicule him. But Phichit just looked thoughtful.

 

“It would explain how he could make himself visible to you,” he reasoned, tapping his chin, and Yuuri’s eyes widened in surprise.

 

“You don’t think that sounds stupid?” he blurted. Phichit looked at him in confusion.

 

“Why would it sound stupid?” he asked blankly, and Yuuri fidgeted.

 

“For Victor Nikiforov to spend a lot of time watching out for – for _me_?” Victor stared at Yuuri, speechless, indignation and fury at Yuuri’s self-doubt stirring in his chest, wondering if he should try to speak to Yuuri again so he could tell the blind idiot just how perfect Yuuri was, how amazingly lucky Victor considered himself to be able to call Yuuri his soulmate. Thankfully, Phichit seemed to be on the same page.

 

“And what exactly are _you_?” he demanded, voice laden with a warning. Yuuri shrugged, heedless.

 

“Just another dime-a-dozen figure skater,” he mumbled, and Victor could see Phichit’s eyes blaze through the phone screen.

 

“Yuuri, you’re every bit as special as Victor,” Phichit said fiercely, and Victor nodded emphatically (to himself, he supposed, but ah well), but Yuuri only looked more downtrodden. 

 

“It’s not like I have any kind of world championships to my name or anything. When Victor was my age, he’d already made a name for himself as one of the top figure skaters in the world. What have I done?” Yuuri questioned, and Victor could hear the self-loathing in his voice.

 

“Yuuri, you stop that,” Phichit said sternly, and Victor internally cheered him on. “You’re not the soulmate of Victor Nikiforov – you’re Yuuri Katsuki. You’re special in your own right, and not just because of your skating accomplishments – _which are numerous, might I add_ – but also because of who you are as a person. Do you think just anyone could’ve handled what you’ve been through and come out where you are? You’re a strong person, Yuuri, and all this season has done is reinforce that. I see you struggle with your anxiety every single time you perform, but you keep doing it. You push through it and push through it until you’ve left everything you have on the rink, for better or worse – and that struggle doesn’t make you weak. It makes you stronger than anyone I’ve ever known. You were chosen for Victor Nikiforov and he was chosen for you because you’re _both_ special.”

 

_Holy shit_. Victor had never been happier that Phichit was Yuuri’s best friend, and, considering how pleased he’d always been when anything and anyone made Yuuri smile, that was saying something. Yuuri sniffled.

 

“What did I do to deserve a best friend like you?” he said thickly, and Phichit laughed, the tension effectively broken.

 

“Probably save a small village full of children and puppies in a past life or something,” Phichit responded airily, and Yuuri choked out a watery laugh. Phichit sighed, glancing behind him. “I should go – it’s late here, and I bet it’s late for you, too. We both need rest.”

 

“You’re right,” Yuuri agreed, nodding. Phichit smiled gently.

 

“Are you gonna be okay?”

 

“With a friend like you? How could I not be?” he teased, and Phichit grinned at him.

 

“That’s the spirit,” he praised, and Yuuri smiled.

 

“Goodnight, Phichit.”

 

“Goodnight, Yuuri.”

 

And when Yuuri finally laid down to sleep hours later, Victor curled up facing him, stroking his hair gently. Yuuri looked so peaceful in sleep, all the worries and insecurities and fears that plagued him during the day drained away. Victor still couldn’t believe how much Yuuri doubted himself; how could _anyone_ fail to see how amazing Yuuri was? He gathered every positive feeling he had for his soulmate, every moment he’d collected that had made him fall for Yuuri just a little bit more, pressing it all into a kiss to Yuuri’s forehead. Yuuri let out a soft, sleepy noise of contentment, wriggling closer to Victor’s nonexistent form.

 

 

The years seemed to pass in quick succession after that, filled with victories and defeats, exhilarating wins and crushing losses. It was a greater struggle than it had any right to be in Victor’s opinion, considering Yuuri’s immense skill. But his insecurity and anxiety made winning the gold more difficult – and all the more rewarding, in the end. Victor tried to be there for Yuuri at every turn, to soothe him before he stepped on the ice and reassure him after it was over. He was there during the nights Yuuri doubted himself after his short program, providing a gentle stream of support and a firm reminder that, no matter what happened, Victor would always think himself lucky to be Yuuri’s soulmate.

 

And it helped. It wasn’t quick, of course, but the quiet reminders that he thought Yuuri was capable of besting even him in the figure skating world built Yuuri’s confidence brick by recalcitrant brick. He took more chances, asking for and then demanding more challenging programs. He skated with his heart more and more in competitions, putting first his sadness and longing, then his anger, then his hope into programs that brought the audience to tears more than once. He started taking the podium more and more frequently, and then climbed from amassing tons of bronzes to tons of silvers to tons of golds.

 

It was the kind of career progression that didn’t demand attention from fanatics, but rather persistently tapped them on the shoulder until they had no choice but to pay attention, to acknowledge the skill that had steadily built up. So slowly but surely, Yuuri became the skating staple that Victor had been during his lifetime, collecting gold medals like they were his due. His name became synonymous with victory in the figure skating world, his beautiful programs inspiring another generation of figure skaters as Victor had done for him.

 

And where his figure skating brought him fame and admiration, it also brought him a steady stream of suitors. Women and men alike tried to win him over with flattery and attention, and Yuuri’s unqualified rejection of every single one only made him even more alluring, it seemed. Victor was pretty sure he hadn’t seen a single recent article about Yuuri’s figure skating success that didn’t also speculate about his love life. His reticence on the matter only fanned the flames; apart from Chris and Phichit, he didn’t tell anyone that he even had a soulmate.

 

But his program themes were such that the media couldn’t stop discussing who they might be about – and though they considered that “heartbreak” might be about the loss of a close friend or pet or that “separation” might be referring to his family, the popular opinion was that Yuuri was skating for someone special. And when Yuuri announced his latest season theme would be love, his fanbase blew up, rigorously trying to find out who had captured the attention of figure skating’s most eligible bachelor (the popular theories were Phichit and Christophe – at least until Chris announced that he’d found his soulmate and was disgustingly happy). 

 

Victor wasn’t around as much anymore – Yuuri didn’t need his help to overcome the nasty insecurities that had plagued him for so long any longer – but he made sure to be present for every performance. And in Victor’s not-so-humble opinion, it was the most stunning program set yet. Yuuri skated with the same sadness and longing that had always characterized his performances, but it was sadness and longing coupled with deep-seated joy and anticipation of the future. It was Yuuri’s way of saying he accepted he was Victor’s soulmate and he was happy, despite everything. In it, Victor could see the love Yuuri’d had for him as a child looking up to a figure skating legend he wanted to emulate, how that love had grown and morphed as Yuuri’d watched Victor interact with his fans and seen the heart he put into his skating, how it had shattered when Victor had died, and how it had slowly been patched back together and transformed into something more tender after years of interactions limited to comforting touches and unwavering support – and Victor could see Yuuri’s intention to move forward by doing the same for others in the program’s ending.

 

The program was a farewell to the competitive skating world, though they didn’t seem to know it yet. And why would they? Yuuri was still skating like a champion, taking home golds like it was his birthright – why would he stop, when he was still on top? But Victor could see it in the way he skated; he was saying good-bye.

 

And so when the season came to its pinnacle at the World Championships, Victor watched with no small measure of pride as Yuuri completed the final short program skate of his career, breaking Yuuri’s own previous record with stunning simplicity. His score put him easily in first, slating him for the final slot of the free skate the next day, but Yuuri had long since gotten over his anxiety over going last. Victor could see no surprise or dismay on his face in the Kiss and Cry, only acknowledgment and quiet resignation. The reporters fawned over him, shouting questions until Yuuri held up a hand, politely but commandingly silencing them without a word.

 

“Thank you for all of your support over the years. I couldn’t have done this without my friends and my family and my fans and – and another person who’s very special to me,” Yuuri said, stumbling only once over how to refer to Victor. The words prompted the reporters to start shouting questions again, demanding answers over this mysterious person’s identity. But Yuuri only smiled and shook his head, waiting until they quieted once more.

 

“Tomorrow is my last performance,” he said simply, then waited until the clamoring dwindled again. Though he’d known as much, Victor’s heart mourned just a little; he would miss seeing his soulmate’s beautiful performances.

 

When the noise died down again, Yuuri cleared his throat, the first real sign of emotion Victor had seen from him so far during the interview. “Tomorrow is my last performance, and it’s a very special one to me. It won’t be what you’ve seen in my competitions so far, so I hope you won’t be disappointed,” he said with a small self-deprecating smile. “But I felt very strongly about using this particular piece as my farewell. Thank you all for everything.”

 

And then Yuuri stepped down as the room exploded again, having been given more questions than answers, but Yuuri paid no attention, only smiling serenely and walking away. Victor trailed behind him and his coach as Celestino frowned at his student.

 

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Yuuri,” Celestino commented, but his voice held no reproach; Celestino had long since accepted that Yuuri held the particular secret of who his performances were aimed at close to his heart.

 

“I do,” Yuuri responded simply, his countenance so at peace that Celestino didn’t press any further but simply nodded and left the matter alone. Victor, for his part, was curious, having not been present at Yuuri’s practices recently; he’d limited his visits to Yuuri’s performances and, occasionally, to Yuuri’s nights, stroking his hair and wishing with the same dull ache that had been present for too many years now that he could feel the silken texture, could be there in person. 

 

Victor supposed he’d simply have to wait in anticipation like all of Yuuri’s other fans, but that was okay; he liked surprises, and he loved that Yuuri could still surprise him, despite Victor’s presence at even his most vulnerable, private moments.

 

 

The day of Yuuri’s final performance dawned bright and clear – not that Victor cared, sheltered inside the hallowed rink that would house Yuuri’s final performance. The arena was packed as always for the World Championship, but the feel was different today. It was jubilant but somber, as befitted an avid crowd who was both celebrating and mourning the last gift of one of their most gifted performers; the air of mystery surrounding Yuuri’s performances probably added to the tense excitement in the atmosphere, too, in Victor’s opinion. 

 

Whatever the reason, the first five performances flew by in a blur, each skater’s supporters dutifully cheering them on, but with just the slightest tinge of impatience and anticipation. Finally, _finally_ , it was Yuuri’s turn. Normally, Victor liked to be in the dressing room with Yuuri, doing anything he could to calm his soulmate’s nerves; today, however, Victor had decided he wanted to be among all of Yuuri’s other fans, side by side with them as Yuuri gifted them with this last performance. 

 

So his gasps mirrored everyone else’s when Yuuri stepped onto the rink, sheer mesh covering a portion of one side of his body so that his soulmark was bared for the world to see, stark black gleaming proudly against pale skin in a spot over the hipbone that Victor knew intimately well, having traced his own longingly for so many years.

 

The rink was dead silent for a minute before whispers started up. Victor caught snippets of conversation from his spot frozen to his seat, staring at the perfect man he had the pleasure of calling his soulmate, who was currently skating to the center of the rink, head held high.

 

_”Isn’t that…?”_

_“That looks exactly like – “_

_“Wait, so is he soulmates with…?”_

 

The whispers only fell quiet once the music started – and Victor’s eyes widened as Yuuri shocked an entire room to silence for a second time. Because the song was _Victor’s_ , the last song Victor had ever skated to. His aria sounded over the speaker, and Yuuri started to skate. 

 

Victor was frozen for only a second more before he shot down to the rink, his heart overwhelmed with an emotion too intense to be encapsulated by the simple word “love.” He stepped onto the rink as Yuuri skated by, eyes closed and face so peaceful that Victor’s heart twinged. Without pausing to think, Victor joined him, gliding alongside his soulmate as though he were on his own skates, lost so long ago to the world of the living. 

 

“I am here, дучик,” Victor whispered, mimicking Yuuri’s movements because Yuuri was mimicking _his_ movements from all those years ago – except they looked a hundred times better on Yuuri, his soulmate’s grace and longing sweeping through every move. From the way Yuuri stiffened ever so slightly, the smallest smile appearing on the skater’s face, Victor could only imagine the other skater had heard him.

 

“I hoped you would be,” Yuuri murmured, and Victor _almost_ faltered, shocked to hear his soulmate speak to him. “One final performance, together?” Yuuri, his beautiful, perfect Yuuri, requested, not breaking the dance – and Victor was beside him, mirroring as they entered an arabesque. 

 

“Together,” Victor agreed.

 

And the music sang on, the soulmates invisibly entangled over the swell, perfectly in tune to their own sweet tune, every step sequence flowing in clandestine harmony as though they’d been practicing the routine together for their entire lives. It was perfection, it was a connection that was everything Victor had ever dreamed of when he’d first learned he had another half. 

 

“You threw an extra spin in there, you talented little show off,” Victor crowed delightedly when his soulmate out-spun him, and he could feel rather than see the smile on Yuuri’s face. 

 

“Had to do something to keep up with you,” Yuuri whispered as they both entered into a lunge – and then Victor couldn’t resist any longer, cheating out of the lunge to rest a hand on Yuuri’s waist, using the other to guide Yuuri’s hand forward, delighted that at last he can _touch_. As if from a distance, he heard gasps from the audience, but he could hardly be bothered with them now.

 

“Keep up with me? My love, you surpassed me long ago,” Victor said adoringly, and Yuuri’s blush and smile is blinding – a blush and smile that he can see on the giant screens all around the arena. Screens that were currently broadcasting not only Yuuri, but also the iridescent but slowly solidifying form of one Victor Nikiforov. 

 

They pulled out of the lunge, but kept with Victor’s original choreography only slightly, adjusting so that this singles performance turned deliberately and seamlessly into a couple’s. They turned together, eyes only for one another as the music spun on, circling around one another, completing jump after spin after lunge in each other’s arms in a way that Victor had never intended the choreography to be used but had clearly been the proper form all along. 

 

And then the music heralded its own ending, the final strains of the music intimately familiar to Yuuri and Victor twinkling around them. Victor prepared for their final jump, watching Yuuri do the same from the corner of his eye. He threw it, landed – and saw Yuuri stick what could only be a quad flip, _his_ quad flip. He laughed once, loud and jubilant, gravitating towards his Yuuri as Yuuri came back to him, hitting their final mark as the last strains of the music echoed throughout the arena. 

 

There was silence for a minute, and then the arena went wild, the sounds of cheers and sobs filling the air as people stared at the ghostly figure of their once-hero gone too soon intertwined with the bright flame that had blazed through the skating world after he’d gone, understanding at last where the beauty of the emotion in Yuuri’s skating had sprung from for so long – but Yuuri’s eyes didn’t leave Victor’s face.

 

“For you,” he said reverently, a gentle smile of untouchable, unspeakable love settled immovably on his face as he reached up, fingers brushing gently against Victor’s barely tangible cheek. “This dance was for you,” Yuuri clarified, and Victor smiled brilliantly, reaching for the hand resting against his face and pressing a kiss to his soulmate’s hand.

 

“For us,” he corrected, and Yuuri’s smile only widened. He could feel it when he started to fade away, and he knew Yuuri could see it, eyes saddening – and _god_ , Victor would do anything to keep Yuuri from having to look like that ever again. “I’ll be waiting for you,” Victor promised. He reached forward, hand brushing Yuuri’s face for the briefest second – and then Yuuri was holding only air. 

 

 

“It’s about time,” are the first words Yuuri hears when he opens eyes to a familiar but strange environment. He stared up at the ceiling of what he’s certain is the arena where he’d given his final performance so many decades ago, on a day he would never forget. Strange, because he was certain he’d closed his eyes in a hospital bed, his family around him as they waited for the inexorable passage of time to claim his old, feeble body at last.

 

Blinking, Yuuri sat up glancing around – and sure enough, he was in the arena, except this time it was entirely empty save for one person. Yuuri felt his face split into a smile, recognizing that person as the one person, living or dead, that he wanted to see in that moment.

 

Victor smiled adoringly at him, hovering over the ice and looking every inch the angel he had in life, then pouted. “Do you know how long I’ve waited on you?” he asked, voice elevating dramatically. “I thought I was going to _die_ before you got here!”

 

Yuuri laughed delightedly. “That would’ve been a little difficult,” he teased, and Victor clutched his heart.

 

“You wound me, not taking my suffering seriously,” he said, pouting harder.

 

“Well I’m here now,” Yuuri responded, cheeks hurting already from smiling so hard, and Victor wasn’t able to hold in a brilliant smile in response to _that_ particular remark. “So now what?”

 

Victor glided forward, offering his hand to Yuuri, who took it without hesitation, noting absently that all the age marks were gone, that he’d once more been restored to his youth. Victor pulled him to his feet, tugging him close. “Now, we start our lives together.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family can mean a lot of different things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I have a few little headcanons that keep kinda teasing me about this AU that I’ve ended up writing. They’re suuuuper short, but I thought I might share one in case anyone else likes this AU! If y’all want me to share the rest, feel free to let me know, but I also def don’t wanna be annoying with constant updates of little nonsensical snippets!! <3

The first thing Yuuri heard when he opened the door of his apartment was Mila’s raucous laugh, followed quickly by Yuri’s angry shouting. Smiling quietly to himself, he kicked off his shoes, dumping the grocery bags onto the counter and heading into the living room. 

 

Not unexpectedly, Mila and Yuri were arguing - or rather Yuri was arguing, and Mila was laughing as her latest attempt to rile up the ever-temperamental kid succeeded.

 

“Someday I’m going to figure out how you two keep getting in here without a key,” Yuuri grumbled with a grin, leaning against the entrance to the living room. 

 

“Not our fault that you make the best pirozkhi I’ve ever tasted, _and_ you feed us for free,” Mila responded with a light shrug, flicking Yuri in the head affectionately for what Yuuri guessed was likely the twentieth or thirtieth time. “We’d have to be morons to pass that up.”

 

“Flick me again and you’ll lose your hand, you witch!” Yuri threatened, looking like his usual enraged self, and Mila chuckled, ruffling his hair.

 

“You’re just so _cute_ , Yurio,” she said, scrunching her face up at him, and Yuri looked like his blood was going to boil.

 

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” he screeched, and Yuuri sighed, feigning exasperation but feeling nothing but affection. He counted himself very lucky to have these people in his life.

 

After his last performance, he hadn’t been sure what he’d do; Detroit had never quite felt like home, but he wasn’t certain he could return to the onsen either - not to mention he’d have felt horrible bringing all the reporters back with him. They’d latched onto him after his - er, _memorable_ performance with all its revelations, wanting to sniff out every last detail of poor, pitiful Katsuki’s star-crossed fate. 

 

Yuri had contacted him - or, “tracked him down” was really the more appropriate way to put it, he supposed - demanding that Yuuri train him. He’d blustered that Victor had given his word that he’d train Yuri, and, seeing as Victor wasn’t available, Yuuri was going to have to do. At the time, Yuuri had been a little baffled, uncertain whether to be offended or flattered; as time wore on and he came to know Yuri better, he was able to see Yuri’s demand for what it really was - the kid who would declare to anyone and everyone who’d listen that he cared about no one had been _worried_ for him. Yuri’d never needed Yuuri’s help to be a brilliant skater, but Yuuri thought perhaps he’d needed the younger boy to find a new place to fit after retiring from skating. 

 

And so Yuuri had moved to St. Petersberg, and they’d worked together that season to choreograph Yuri’s pieces into something spectacular. At the end of the season, Yakov had offered Yuuri a coaching position alongside him, proclaiming gruffly that it was about time he started training someone younger to deal with his high maintenance morons - his words, not Yuuri’s. 

 

Yuuri had been worried that the students wouldn’t take him seriously, that they’d see someone who’d flubbed so many jumps over the course of his career and had no business coaching, or that they’d just see him as Victor Nikiforov’s poor sad soulmate, but his students had seemed to embrace his teachings, many of them improving their technical scores so substantially from listening to Yuuri’s comments on step sequences that even Yakov didn’t have a stern remark for them. 

 

And to Yuuri’s complete surprise, he fit here. It had been slow at first, his social anxiety preventing him from making friends too quickly and easily, but the other skaters slowly wormed their way under his defenses. Yuri was a given, showing up at Yuuri’s apartment with loud grumblings about how he needed something better than that slop Yakov wanted him to eat to stay fit, and did Yuuri want his protege to starve? Then Mila, brash and outspoken, had started joining them, smiling winningly and mentioning oh-so-conveniently that her stove had broken and she really didn’t want to have to go out and get fast food somewhere cheap and gross. Even Georgi showed his face, usually to regale them with tales of his latest heartbreak and whine about how he’d never find love. Sometimes Yakov and Lilian stopped by, always tossing a few barbs at each other over dinner that everyone in the room besides the two of them knew were badly disguised attempts at flirting.

 

Even other skaters passing through St. Petersburg for various competitions had started stopping by, to the point that Mila had dubbed Yuuri’s cooking nights “Family Dinners” and would send out mass texts to let anyone in the area know they were welcome when Yuuri brought home ingredients.

 

“Chris is coming tonight, by the way,” Mila called as Yuuri shook his head at the bickering duo one last time before heading to the kitchen.

 

“Oh? What’s Chris doing here?” Yuuri called, moving to unload all of his groceries, leaving out the ingredients he’d need. 

 

“Haven’t you heard? He found his soulmate - finally,” Mila called back, and Yuuri started, a small smile breaking over his face.

 

“He did? Good for him! Although I pity whatever person has to put up with him after his post-competition celebrations,” Yuuri grinned, recalling the multiple times he’d had to clean up after his friend had gone a bit hard. To be fair, Chris had done the same for him on far more occasions than he wanted to admit. Mila snorted her agreement. 

 

“His soulmate lives in St. Petersburg, so I think we’ll be seeing quite a bit more of him around here,” Mila commented, and Yuuri hummed his pleasure, retrieving the pots and pans from his cabinets.

 

He’d just started cooking in earnest when Yuri stalked into the room, throwing himself into a chair at the counter. “What are you making, Katsudon?” Yuri asked, scowling at the ingredients that Yuuri assumed were likely still far too unassembled for his liking.

 

“Your favorite,” Yuuri responded with a bemused smile, and Yuri brightened.

 

“Grandfather’s pirozhki?” he asked hopefully, and Yuuri nodded, laughing at the puppy-like eager expression on the younger boy’s face. Yuri tried to hide his smile behind a disdainful sniff. “Glad you’re good for _something_ , Katsudon.”

 

“You’re welcome, Yurio,” Yuuri teased, already prepared for the -

 

“I told you not to call me that!”

 

Yuuri only laughed, shaking his head at his favorite former student. “The people have spoken, Yurio,” he said somberly. “You’ve been rechristened.”

 

“Why do I even bother with you people?” Yuri lamented aloud, sliding off the stool and throwing his hands up, heading back to the living room, presumably to argue with Mila some more. 

 

Yuuri laughed quietly to himself at Yuri’s retreating form, pausing at the light touch he felt on his back. He turned to see - nothing. He smiled brilliantly at the empty space.

 

“I’d say we raised a good one, didn’t we, Victor?” he prompted, and Yuuri didn’t know if he’d simply memorized the sound of Victor’s laughter from their stolen moments over the years or if his soulmate truly was laughing with him now, but the sound comforted him regardless.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yurio didn't want a fucking soulmate - he was fine on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the update, and so sorry it's short, I was just having some major feels for this AU! I'm addicted to soulmate stuff :') as always, let me know if there's anything you want to see in the future.

Soulmates were a goddamn menace. Why would anyone want to be connected to someone who could be exploited as a point of weakness? Yuri had no weaknesses - he refused on principle, stupid fucking soulmark on his left wrist be damned.

 

Although he couldn't deny that he'd been staring at the dumb meaningless mark recently. He blamed that on Yuuri and Victor, whose bond was apparently so fucking perfect and wonderful that they could communicate with each other even after Victor had died. And sure that communication was mostly restricted to the skating rink and brief moments of comforting feelings and whispers in the ear, from what Katsuki described, but still! To have the kind of soulbond where they could basically circumvent death? God, they'd have been insufferable if they'd found each other while they were both alive.

 

Shit, Yuri felt guilty even thinking that. It would've been a cute kind of insufferable, of course. But fuck - how could people be that perfect together? There was no chance Yuri would find that sort of love; he was certain of it.

 

 

"Yuri, you're not letting yourself feel the music!" Yuuri called from the sidelines, earnestness coloring his voice. Yuri suppressed an eye-roll. 

 

"Well maybe if you hadn't stuck me with the bullshit lovey-dovey unconditional love program, I'd be feeling it a bit more," Yuri yelled back, completing a fucking perfect quadruple axel thank-you-very-fucking-much. Yuri could practically _feel_ Yuuri's frown. Well what the fuck was he supposed to do? He hadn't met his unconditional love partner yet, not that he needed them. How could he feel an emotion he hadn't had the chance to experience yet? The music finished, and Yuri spun into his final position, haughtily raising his chin as he hit his final pose perfectly. He dropped the pose as Yuuri skated towards him, Yakov remaining in the doorway, watching with something akin to bemusement.

 

"You're not letting yourself connect with the feeling, Yuri," Yuuri said, eyes penetrating but sincere as he skated to a stop in front of Yuri. "You're focusing so much on the technical aspects of your program that you're forgetting what the program is about."

 

"Yeah, well maybe I don't get what that unconditional love bullshit even means," Yuri spat, crossing his arms. "And how am I supposed to, anyway? You had your unconditional love, but I haven't had mine." Yuuri frowned, cocking his head to the side in a movement more reminiscent of concern than offense.

 

"You don't think you have anyone in your life who loves you unconditionally?" Yuuri pressed, sincerity practically radiating off of him. "I know you haven't met your soulmate yet, but I'm not talking about them. Unconditional love can come from anywhere - friends, family, teammates. It doesn't have to mean romantic love or soulmate love."

 

Yuri blinked, a little taken aback. "But the only truly unconditional love in the world is soulmate love?" he said, allowing the sentence to turn up at the end and become a question. Yuuri smiled, a mixture of pain and wisdom rising in his eyes.

 

"I dunno. I think I'd argue that soulmate love _is_ conditional - conditional on them being your soulmate. You have to love them for that reason, but what you make of that love is up to you. Unconditional love is love no matter what - love that goes beyond soulmates, love that can't be taken away by _anything_. And can you have that kind of love with your soulmate? Sure. But you don't _only_ have that kind of love with your soulmate. Do you understand what I mean?" Piercing eyes met Yuri's and a mental image of Yuri's grandfather came to his mind. His grandfather would give anything for him, of that he had absolutely no doubt - and Yuri would do the same in return.

 

Shocked by his own action but feeling it deep down, Yuri nodded. Yuuri beamed.

 

"Let's try again."

 

 

Yuri won the goddamn Grand Prix Finals. Not that he was surprised - his routine was perfect, _he_ was perfect; after his and Yuuri's heart-to-heart, he understood, he _felt_ , the program well enough to perform it in his sleep with the exact amount of emotional investment to bring tears to the audience's eyes. He was fantastic, with or without a stupid fucking soulmate.

 

So when a dark-haired, quiet man whom he tentatively identified as one of his competitors who happened to be annoyingly attractive turned up at the after party, Yuri was too busy convincing himself that this was all he'd needed to validate himself to notice.

 

Lucky for him, the other man wasn't so blind.

 

"Hi, I'm Otabeck. I saw your performance earlier today - I think I'm your soulmate." And the annoyingly attractive man exposed his left wrist, Yuri's eyes latching onto the exact same stupidly perfect dove that matched his own.

 

 

If anyone ever asked, he absolutely was _not_ the most giddily excited he'd ever been in his entire life.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri and Victor are in Heaven together...it goes as one would expect, probably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so this chapter is entirely smut. It's my first time ever writing smut, so I'm so so sorry if it's weird/awkward/terrible!! I hope it flows decently regardless!!!!! As always, lmk if there's anything you want to see for this AU in the future.

Yuuri was in heaven, both literally and metaphorically.

He and Victor had skated around the arena lackadaisically, as though time didn't exist - because actually, for them now, it didn't. For all that Yuuri had wanted to say, had wanted to express to his soulmate, he couldn't avoid this deep-seated feeling of _contentment_ that came from just wordlessly enjoying Victor's presence, finally feeling complete in being united at last. He thought he'd felt complete with Victor's ghostly presence dropping in to comfort him or support him, but it was absolutely nothing compared to _this_.

This felt like fire and ice swirling around each other in an impossible but nonetheless essential dance - and for the life (or death) of him, Yuuri wasn't sure which of them was fire and which was ice. Perhaps they were both a bit of each and that was why their dance was one for the ages. All Yuuri knew was that, though Victor never touched him during their dance across the ice, eyes blazing and forms sensual in their perfection, his body seared with the cold flame in Victor's ice-blue eyes. 

"Vozlyublennaya, would you like to go to our home?" Victor asked after enough time had passed that Yuuri thought he probably should have been breathless with exertion. _Home_ , Yuuri thought, heart lifting.

"Yes, please," he requested, smiling shyly, and Victor beamed in response.

"You're going to love it," he promised, eyes gleaming with excitement, and Yuuri couldn't help but be swept along with the thrill, feeling as though his heart would have truly burst had it still been beating.

 

 

Yuuri remembered little of their walk home, enraptured by Victor, who seemed equally enraptured by him.

"You're going to love it here, my prekrasnoye iskusheniye," Victor promised as they walked, white, gleaming smile a strangely attractive mixture of boyish enthusiasm and predatory roguishness. "Anything you could ever dream of is at your fingertips."

"I'm pretty sure all I need is you," Yuuri admitted bashfully, uncertain where the courage to admit something so vulnerable came from, but Victor turned to him, eyes tender.

"And I you, moya lyubov," he responded, sincerity seeping out of him so thoroughly that Yuuri felt heady with it.

When Victor came to a stop in front of what Yuuri guessed was their home, Yuuri couldn't help but feel gratifyingly surprised. He'd expected something gaudy and grand - after all, this was Heaven, in whatever religious or agnostic form it wished to take. But their home was - for lack of a better word - _cozy_. Built of sturdy red brick interspersed with a dark wood roof, it seemed to belong to a different age, one Yuuri wasn't familiar with but was damn sure willing to learn about.

"Do you like it?" Victor asked softly. Yuuri turned to him.

"It's perfect," he responded honestly, and the relief in Victor's eyes was almost palpable.

"I've been working on it for decades, trying to make sure it's something you'll like," Victor explained, one hand waving at the home. "You seemed like you liked things that were homey and intimate, so I thought this might be a design you'd be happy with." Yuuri paused, eyes searching.

"Victor, this home is beautiful," he said earnestly, eyes latching onto his soulmate's, "but anywhere with you is home to me."

Victor blinked, mouth popping open, then shutting. His eyes latched onto Yuuri's, something unfathomable swimming in their depths. 

"You are more than I could've ever dreamed, moya lyubov," he murmured, and Yuuri felt a thrill race through him as Victor's eyes flashed with something a little less than innocent. Something in Yuuri's stomach flared hotly in response. "And I want you to show me every inch of yourself," Victor said lowly, and Yuuri burned.

 

 

Victor's request - or demand, Yuuri was uncertain how to classify those words so far - appeared forgotten as Yuuri and Victor crossed the threshold of their home, Victor practically vibrating with excitement. He'd grabbed Yuuri's hand to pull him inside, and Yuuri wondered if it was normal for his hand to tingle like it was at the touch.

Victor gave Yuuri the tour, pulling him from room to room, touch distractingly sizzling as Victor guided him, dancing around on the small of his back, on his bicep, tracing across his forearm as they darted through the home. His touch seared, leaving a warmth in its wake that Yuuri couldn't explain.

He'd blame that touch later for getting lost around the house, for how was he expected to focus on directions with his soulmate's skin against his like that?

But regardless of how distracting it was to have Victor touch him, Yuuri was cognizant enough to know that their home was beyond perfect. His every whim had been considered, every hobby he’d ever expressed interest in had been incorporated, and Yuuri was in awe that anyone could care about another enough to put this much thought into their happiness. The tour seemed to take both forever and no time at all, until Victor was coming to a stop in front of one last room, shuffling his feet in a manner that, on anyone else, would’ve appeared awkward. 

“This is the last room,” Victor said softly, ice blue eyes on the floor, boundless energy becoming bashfully muted. Yuuri smiled encouragingly, though Victor didn’t see it, but he eventually continued. “It’s…it’s our bedroom.”

Yuuri’s eyes widened, locking on the otherwise innocuous-looking door. A bedroom that he and his soulmate could share, just the two of them, for the rest of their existence…god, Yuuri couldn’t wait to see where Victor wanted to spend their most intimate moments together. “Should we go inside?” Yuuri queried, and Victor’s eyes darted up to lock on Yuuri’s. He nodded microscopically, then pushed the door open.

Later, Yuuri was sure he’d show more appreciation for the simple elegance of the room – the unobtrusively satin sheets, the sturdy dark oaken furniture, the deep maroon settee in front of a luxurious, currently-shuttered window. It was classy and classic, stylish without being overstated, lavish but somehow still simplistic in its styling; in short, it was the perfect mesh of him and Victor.

But at the moment, all he could think was that this was the place Victor had pictured spending time with him alone – and _god_ if that wasn’t sending shivers up and down his form. “It’s perfect,” he said breathlessly, turning to look at Victor. 

Victor met his gaze, the air charged between them.

“Moya lyubov, may I?” Victor asked, eyes bright and pupils dilated. Yuuri nodded emphatically, not entirely sure what he was agreeing to but willing to take anything, _everything_ , his soulmate would give him. 

And then Victor was leaning in, and Yuuri’s eyes shut automatically as Victor’s lips pressed against his.

And _fuck_ , was this what kisses usually felt like? Yuuri let out something between a whimper and a moan, and he’d have been embarrassed that a _kiss_ brought him to that point already, but this was his _soulmate_ , he’d been waiting on this for so long that it bordered on criminal. Warmth shot through him, originating where Victor’s lips touched his own and racing down his frame, and his lips parted slightly. Victor immediately took advantage, tongue expertly delving in, swiping against his lips to gain entry and swirling in his mouth. 

Victor broke away too soon with a vulgar squelch, eyes black and looking entirely like he wanted to devour Yuuri, and Yuuri felt a shiver wrack him. 

“Bed, moye sokrovishche,” Victor commanded, his voice rough and deep. Yuuri didn’t even think before obeying, scrambling towards the satin sheets.

Victor climbed over him, silver hair shimmering in the low light, and Yuuri would’ve thought this some sort of dream except that even in his dreams he could never have pictured such perfection.

“You look…” Victor swallowed, “… _delectable_ , my Yuuri.” And with that, Victor dived down, lips warm against Yuuri’s neck, and Yuuri let out a surprised noise that quickly turned into a moan as Victor licked over Yuuri’s pulse point, teeth scraping sensitive, pulsatile skin. Yuuri tilted his head back, giving him better access, and he felt Victor suck against his skin hard enough to leave a mark. 

“Vic-tor,” Yuuri moaned brokenly, rutting up, seeking friction against his increasingly hard cock. 

“Mm, so impatient, moye sokrovishche,” Victor murmured, his voice lilting teasingly, but his hips rolled against Yuuri, cocks rubbing together briefly, and pleasure exploded behind Yuuri’s eyes. He couldn’t keep the pleasured noise he made silent, the sensation yanking high-pitched moans from him against his own volition. Victor moaned in response.

“Are those noises for me, my Yuuri?” Victor sounded hungry, predatory, and Yuuri felt himself both shrink and swell at the sound. His eyes slit open, meeting Victor’s darkened blue ones. Victor licked his lips, and Yuuri’s eyes followed the movement fascinatedly. Victor smirked. “Come on, my darling, talk to me. I want to hear you,” he encouraged, and Yuuri sucked in a breath, cheeks burning.

“Y-yes,” he choked out, and Victor smiled at him tenderly.

“Yes what, baby?”

“Yes, they’re for you,” Yuuri said shyly, eyes dropping. A kiss pressed to his cheek.

“Just for me, sweetheart?” Victor murmured, voice vibrating against his skin. Yuuri opened his mouth to respond, then Victor’s hips rolled against him and an obscene moan escaped instead. 

“Victor,” Yuuri breathed, eyes rolling back in his head in pleasure, brain short-circuiting. 

“Can I undress you, my sweet?” Victor requested, dropping more kisses against Yuuri’s neck, and Yuuri nodded fervently.

“ _Please,”_ ” he pleaded, and Victor grinned, white teeth flashing in the low light. Without another word, Victor’s hands pressed against his body, warm and firm, tugging at the edge of his shirt and pulling it over his head. His pants and underwear followed soon after, and Yuuri’s cheeks burned in a mixture of embarrassment and arousal as he was exposed to Victor’s hungry gaze.

“Beautiful,” Victor murmured, eyes roaming up and down, taking in Yuuri’s obvious arousal.

“You too,” Yuuri requested, tugging at Victor’s shirt. Victor tutted, long fingers wrapping around Yuuri’s wrist and gently pulling it away.

“Later, my love,” Victor promised, eyes dark. “First, I want to take you in.” And Yuuri noticed distantly that Victor hadn’t removed his hand from Yuuri’s wrist; instead, Victor leaned his weight forward, guiding Yuuri’s wrist up and pinning it above his head. His other hand guided Yuuri’s other wrist to join the first, crossing them over one another. “You aren’t allowed to touch me yet. Keep your arms here, okay?”

Yuuri couldn’t speak, so he just nodded, and Victor smiled tenderly at him. Then his weight disappeared and Yuuri bit back a whine; and then the barest whisper of breath against skin was the only warning Yuuri got before Victor’s lips wrapped around his nipple, tongue swirling and teasing the bud mercilessly.

“Oh – Victor,” Yuuri moaned, arching into the sensation, forgetting himself almost immediately and bringing his hands down to touch, to encourage. He regretted it when Victor’s lips left him, one hand darting up to catch his wrists.

“Ah ah ah, my sweet,” Victor cooed, and Yuuri would swear there was amusement in his tone. His fingers wrapped around Yuuri’s wrists, pushing them back down with a bit more force, and Yuuri sucked in a breath as he came face to face with his soulmate’s impish smile. “I said no touching yet,” Victor scolded, eyes dancing as he squeezed Yuuri’s wrists. “You made me wait for you for so long, it’s only fair that you have to wait on me now.”

“B-but Victor, I – I need –” Yuuri babbled, pupils blown, but he lost his train of thought entirely when Victor’s free hand traced down his body, lower, lower, lower until he stroked Yuuri’s cock gently. Yuuri let out a stuttered moan, bucking into Victor’s hand, wrists straining against Victor’s hold.

“Yes, baby? What do you need?” Victor asked conversationally, as though unaffected, and Yuuri’s face flamed further. He shook his head wordlessly, unable to express the words that wanted to dive off his tongue. His soulmate’s lithe fingers stroked him, feather-light against sensitive skin. “Come, my darling, I want you to tell me what you want.”

“You, please, Victor,” Yuuri encouraged breathlessly, crying out involuntarily at the feeling of Victor stroking his cock more firmly. 

“How do you want me, my darling?” Victor murmured, and Yuuri shuddered.

“ _Inside_ me, _please_ Victor,” Yuuri begged, and Victor sucked in a breath, one of the clearest signs Yuuri’d seen all night that his soulmate was as affected by this as him.

“As you wish, moya lyubov,” Victor said, his voice deepening, and the pressure disappeared from Yuuri’s wrists as he heard a pop off to the side, and then a cold sensation pressing against his entrance. “Tell me if you feel any discomfort, love,” Victor commanded, and Yuuri whimpered and nodded in response.

The first finger pressed in, and Yuuri kept his noise of distress silent. He supposed he should’ve expected some pain – he’d worked himself loose in the world of the living over the decades, but this was Heaven, and he wasn’t sure what the rules were here – if he started over as essentially a virgin or if he retained his self-directed single-partner experience. As it was, he felt like more of a virgin than he had since he’d first realized his soulmate was gone and he’d have to pleasure himself on his own; Victor’s finger, lubed though it was, burned. Yuuri made himself compartmentalize the pain, years of training pushing through uncomfortable or downright painful stimuli on ice preparing him for this moment. 

And after a moment, it didn’t hurt any longer, and Yuuri squirmed, endorphin-laden mind starting to feel less than satisfied – although he was distantly aware that the rational part of him knew that tomorrow he’d appreciate Victor all the more for waiting until he was ready to proceed.

“Another, Victor, please,” Yuuri pleaded, and Victor leaned in, pressing a kiss to Yuuri’s neck.

“Are you sure, my love? I don’t want to hurt you,” Victor said, and Yuuri nodded emphatically. A second finger joined the first, and the stretch was less painful this time, thankfully; Victor’s fingers worked expertly, stretching him with precise brushes against his prostate that had Yuuri crying out, eyes rolling back in pleasure. Victor took advantage of those moments to suckle marks against his neck, and Yuuri shivered at the sheer possessiveness of those movements. 

Victor worked him to the edge with a precision that would’ve scared him, if Yuuri had any sense left to be frightened by that point. His soulmate had mercilessly teased his prostate, bringing him to the edge time after time, Yuuri babbling nonsense each moment, before Victor brought him back down slowly, kissing his chest, his neck, his cheek as a painful recompense for denying Yuuri his orgasm yet again.

The end result was Yuuri lying back against the pillows, a teary mess, blissfully out of his mind as his soulmate hovered above him, three fingers deep inside him and ripping high-pitched, desperate noises from Yuuri’s throat.

“ _Please_ , Victor,” Yuuri begged, fingers scraping down Victor’s back hard enough to leave marks in the morning. He felt Victor shudder under his hands, and it bolstered him to complete his plea. “Please, I need you in me right now, I can’t wait any more.” And Yuuri was almost impressed with himself for managing a coherent sentence right now – as was Victor, if the black overtaking the blue of his eyes was any indication. 

“Your wish, my command,” Victor breathed, voice deep with desire but tone reverent. Yuuri felt the head of Victor’s cock press against his entrance, and then Victor was slipping inside, and Yuuri’s head tilted back, eyes rolling back in his head at the sensation of having Victor seated inside him. Victor let out a lurid moan. “God, love, do you have any idea how perfect you feel?” Victor groaned, sounding utterly wrecked. “So tight and perfect for me, my Yuuri. I’ve been dreaming of this for _so long_ but you’re so much better than I could’ve ever imagined.”

“Victor,” Yuuri sobbed brokenly as his soulmate hit his prostate again and again, driving his love and his lust home so perfectly that Yuuri felt out of his mind on endorphins. He came untouched, white spreading across Victor’s chest unapologetically as Yuuri cried out in ecstasy, Victor following in suit a moment later. 

Entirely exhausted but sated, satisfied, _content_ in a way he’d never quite been in life, Yuuri burrowed into Victor’s chest, his soulmate’s arm protectively wrapping around him.

As he fell asleep nearly instantaneously, Yuuri felt warm lips press to his forehead. “Ya tvoy na vechnost,” Victor murmured against his skin, and though Yuuri didn’t know the exact words his soulmate had expressed, a sensation of peace and completeness filled him to the brim, telling him in no uncertain terms that this was his happy ending.

**Author's Note:**

> vozlyublennaya - sweetheart  
> prekrasnoye iskusheniye - beautiful temptation  
> moya lyubov - my love  
> Ya tvoy na vechnost - I'm yours for eternity .


End file.
